


Sepia Tones

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember Photo Play?  Well, herein another set of photos is taken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sepia Tones

## Sepia Tones

by J. M. Griffin

If anyone finds the pictures described in this story, they're mine. Everything else belongs to TPTB.

For E. P. with love.

This little ditty was previously published in Mating Rituals 4 in May of 2000.

* * *

**SEPIA TONES**  
by J. M. Griffin 

"Megan, take a look at this." Blair gestured for Cascade's exchange detective to come join him in front of the store window into which he was gazing. 

"What is it, Sandy? Oh. Oh my." The Australian woman had a gleam in her eye. "The question is: Can we talk them into it?" 

"I can talk Jim Ellison into anything," Blair said glibly. 

"And Rafe and Brown cannot resist a challenge or a bet," Megan noted. 

"Meet you back here in ten," Blair said as he bounced away. 

Megan stayed a few moments more, staring into the store front with the words "Victorian Portraits" written in old English style lettering across the front. She had a huge grin on her face. 

Ten minutes later, all five of Cascade's finest were grouped in front of the store. Megan Conner and Blair Sandburg looked gleeful, Jim Ellison, stoic, Brian Rafe and Henri Brown, skeptical. 

"What I want to know is how you talked old stoneface into doing this," Megan whispered into Blair's ear. 

"I told him we could give the picture to Captain Banks for his upcoming forty-fifth birthday." 

Megan burst into laughter and Jim, he of Sentinel fame and super-hearing, glared at his partner. Still, he entered the studio along with everyone else. 

The proprietor of the shop eyed the group with a gleam of his own, then began handing out costume pieces. 

"Dance hall girl?" He asked Inspector Conner with a raised eyebrow. 

"Certainly not," Megan intoned as she grabbed a long duster out of Jim's hands. She handed him, instead, a bowler and a dandy's suit coat. "Butch Cassidy was photographed wearing something like this," she offered. Jim still glowered, but Conner figured it was all show, because the big cop donned the suit and let Blair fiddle with the wide stock that went with the coat. 

Somehow Rafe ended up with the saloon girl's dress in his hands. "No way, man." Blair told him sternly. Major Crimes best-dressed detective had the grace to look sheepish. 

"So what then?" he asked. 

"This," Megan and Blair said at the same time. In no time at all, the man was decked out at his all time scruffiest, complete with bandana round his neck and a smear of dark brown eyeshadow (courtesy of Conner's purse) on his cheek. By the time Sandburg and Conner were done with him, Rafe looked deliciously roguish. 

There was another, larger, duster, which they were able to rustle H into. Since they were on lunch break from the symposium, all the men were in slacks, so that part was easy. The photographer stood back, quite in awe of the tableau Blair and Megan were creating. Jim watched closely, an amused look on his face, as Blair stood tall and fastened silver stars to Megan and Henri's dusters. 

But when Blair stepped up to fasten a holster with six shooters around Rafe's lean hips, Jim growled and Megan did the job, instead. Hats were passed out. Megan found some baggy pants to slip on, as she was in a skirt. 

Pretty soon everyone was all decked out, and the photographer hustled them over to the mock-up of a Victorian parlor. Then he stopped suddenly and looked at Blair. 

"So, you're just the director? You don't want to be in the picture?" 

The four others turned to look at the newest addition to Cascade P.D. He was still in dockers and oxford shirt. He looked more like a professor right now than he had in his professor days, Jim thought with a twinge. But that look wasn't going to do for Simon's birthday present photograph of his star detectives. Jim's gaze was drawn to something he had noted a bit earlier. Over in the corner, on a rather worn Persian rug, stood a claw-footed bathtub. 

"He doesn't need a costume," Jim told the proprietor. "He'll be in that." And the big cop pointed at the tub, brimming with fake bubbles. 

"What?" Blair squeaked. His partner merely grinned lecherously. 

"Well, this whole thing was your idea, Sandy," Megan said sweetly. 

Sandburg could only sputter in response. Smart man that he was, Blair took a look at the four smug faces before him and gave in without a fight, although he did grumble as he stepped behind the dressing screen and stripped down to his boxers. 

The photographer commandeered Henri to help him drag the tub in front of the fake hearth. Chairs were situated. Megan powdered everyone's nose. 

When Blair walked out from behind the screen, the group was totally unsuccessful at not staring at the young man's slender, but succulent, body. Megan smacked her lips appreciatively. Jim muttered, "Just get in the tub, Sandburg," but he graciously held out a hand to his boxer clad partner and helped Blair clamber in. Jim took time to arrange the fake suds just so, and whatever he said into Sandburg's ear that made the younger man blush hotly, Rafe, Brown and Conner were not able to hear. 

The photographer watched all this from a few feet away, then he came close and took command. 

"You, over there. You and you, on the ends. And you," he looked up at Jim Ellison, "you right there, with your feet there. Yes, like that, just like that. All right. Okay, this is going to be great." The camera clicked away. 

"Okay, now this time let's put you here and you there and let's try it this way." 

"Oh, and one more thing. Would you consider...?" 

When they were done, they grudgingly climbed back into their ordinary, everyday clothes and headed back to the conference. They were late, of course, but not one of them cared one whit. The plan was to go back at dinner time and select the very best of the poses for their captain and friend. Boy, was Simon going to be surprised! 

* * *

Which is how Captain Simon Banks of Cascade P.D. came to have a sepia toned picture of his five best detectives dressed in Victorian garb on view in his office. Or rather, four of his five top detectives were dressed, the other was up to his chest in bubbles, nipple ring glinting brazenly. All five were facing the camera, wicked grins on their faces. Conner and Brown bracketed the picture like bookends, both wearing long dusters, rifles resting on shoulders. Ellison and Rafe sat between them in straight-backed chairs. Rafe was cradling his six shooter, feet up on a small table littered with shot glasses. Jim had his feet parked on the edge of the tub that Blair lounged in. Simon refused to even speculate on that aspect of the picture. It was safer that way. But he did look at the picture often: when he needed a break, wanted to smile or simply let down his cares after a rough day. 

What Simon didn't know was that there was another sepia toned picture on the night stand in the bedroom Detective Ellison shared with Detective Sandburg. That picture had been taken the next day and showed only the two lovers. Once again, Jim was sitting on the cane backed chair, but in this picture his frock coat and shirt were opened to show his sculpted chest, his sated gaze was directed on the man in the tub, and there was a decidedly proprietary gleam in his eye. His partner lolled with one leg draped over the edge of the tub, his head back in a languid pose, his heavy-lidded gaze directed at the man in the chair. The look on Blair's face was that of a cat who had tasted cream. It was a thoroughly decadent picture. It brought smiles to the faces of both lovers. Which was, after all, what it was all about. 

* * *

End Sepia Tones by J. M. Griffin: aeriejm@pdq.net

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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